RESTAU-RANTINGS

Having endured the Rat Pack, the Brat Pack, are we now being force fed the Wolfgang?

With every Sunday morning delivery, by the Dwan’s early light, we are served another portion of the paean to the puckish Puck.

For some curious reason I have been eating well for over 40 years without a Wolfe in chef’s clothing and must wonder . . . where are the accolades for Jean Bertranou (late and lamented)? Where are the huzzahs for Jean Bellordre of Le Cellier (alive and still brilliant)?

Is it some culinary hickey game the critics play . . . they’ve got the Puck and are force-feeding us like a Strasbourg goose?

I refer especially to the last breathless information that little Wolfie is about to commence cooking breakfast (“Restaurants Take a Bigger Bite of Breakfast,” by Ruth Reichl, Aug. 4) Easy, stomach . . . come on, let’s hear it for the other members of the A Team and let little Wolfgang rest in pizza.

Crying Wolfgang once too often is ruining my appetite.

TED RHOADS

Culver City